


I'll Follow You Into the Dark

by Swordy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e12 Faith, Gen, Heart Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> The fear that drenches him is ice cold when he hears Bobby sigh. ‘I know you’ll be working your ass off, Sam, but I don’t know how much longer he’s got left.’</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean is still dying after refusing to let Reverend Roy LeGrange heal him, but Sam’s not about to give up on him so easily. Dean says ‘no sacrifices’, but when it comes to saving each other, all bets are off. This is a story of brotherly love and devotion where Dean is Dean and Sam is indomitable. Oh, and Bobby’s awesome, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Follow You Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Astarloa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astarloa/gifts).



> Fic written as a gift for astarloa for Summergen 2015. Thank you to my wonderful (as ever) beta, thruterryseyes . I really hope you'll take part next year! Title taken from Death Cab for Cutie’s song of the same name. Fic written for this prompt: Steampunk-ish AU of “Faith” where Sam’s search for a way to save his brother doesn’t lead to Reverend Roy Le Grange. Instead, they hole up at Bobby’s and Sam sets about building Dean a new heart from scrap metal he finds in the salvage yard, combined with a little magic. Any anime fans will recognise the other characters in the story (although I don't consider it a crossover, so it doesn't matter at all if you don't know them). I’m still not sure how they got dragged into this tale, but (like Sam and Dean) they don’t belong to me...

The plastic seats in the hospital corridor are possibly the hardest thing he’s ever sat on in his life. He lost all feeling in his ass hours ago – hell – necrosis could be setting in now for all he knows. In all fairness, the nurse had gently suggested that he go home and come back later, but there’s more chance of him going to the administrators and telling him that their insurance is about as real as a nine dollar bill than him leaving his brother alone here.

The smell is the worst thing. Sure, no one _likes_ hospitals, but the stench of chemicals mixed with death is an unyielding assault of his olfactory nerves. He tries to tell himself that it isn’t _Dean’s_ death that he can smell, but that would be as much of a lie as their insurance.

Dean – his indestructible, incorrigible big brother, felled not by a wendigo or a skinwalker, but by a _motherfucking taser_.

Three days have passed since this disastrous experience and, alarmingly, Dean’s decline appears to be picking up speed. Sam arrived earlier, expecting to find his brother channel surfing and bitching about the quality of the food – instead he got a stern-faced nurse who informed him that he couldn’t go into the room because the doctors were with Dean because his heart rhythms were concerning them and they needed to try and stabilize him first.

He glances at his watch; it’s been almost three hours since he first arrived at the hospital and almost two since the nurse told him it might be better if he came back later. He tries to picture Dean enduring the endless fussing and poking and prodding and the resulting image is of his brother scowling and generally making himself deeply unpopular with the people who are trying to help him.

He parks his thoughts at the sound of a door opening further down the corridor. Dean’s doctor emerges and, seeing him, makes his way over.

“Mr. Berkowitz-”

“It’s Sam, please.”

“Sam.” The doctor corrects himself. “We’ve managed to stabilize your brother’s condition so you can see him now. He’s quite weak and drowsy from the drugs though, so I’d ask that you don’t stay too long and _please_ don’t allow him to get worked up about anything.” 

The doctor gives Sam a slightly pointed look, since he’s previously walked in on them arguing when Dean was trying to bequeath his many copies of _Busty Asian Beauties_ and Sam wasn’t remotely interested in either his brother’s ‘when I die’ conversations or his collection of dog-eared porn mags.

Sam nods his agreement as he gets to his feet, his bodily woes forgotten in an instant. The door to Dean’s room is ajar and he pushes on it gently. Dean looks like he’s asleep, but his eyes blink open slowly when Sam steps into the room. The overhead fluorescents do nothing for his brother’s sallow complexion and cruelly accentuate the deep shadows under his eyes. In short: he looks as sick as he is. Sam swallows hard and tries to ignore the stench of death that’s inexplicably got stronger now he’s in Dean’s room.

“Hey,” he says, circumnavigating the bed and coming to stand at Dean’s shoulder. “How you feeling, man?”

Dean gives him a wry smile, which appears to take an alarming amount of effort. “You know me, Sammy. I’m just awesome, can’t you tell?”

“Yeah? I think you’ve blown your chance to appear on the cover of _Men’s Health_.”

Dean scowls, but doesn’t follow it up with an insult of his own. This alone is enough to tell Sam that his brother is seriously ill.

“Well, I’m working on something,” Sam says, glancing behind him to check that he’s going to land on the chair when he sits down. “I don’t wanna get your hopes up in case it’s nothing, but someone’s given me a lead. I’m expecting a call this evening.”

He watches Dean carefully to gauge how well this news is being received, but his brother’s eyes have closed again making it impossible to determine if Dean is even paying attention. He decides not to push it, since he’s not even sure if the info he’s been given will be of any use to them.

Barely thirty minutes later he’s hustled from the room by the stern-faced nurse who informs him that her patient needs his rest. He inwardly bristles over her proprietary manner, partly because Dean’s _his_ brother and partly because her attentions aren’t doing anything useful like helping Dean recover from illness or injury. He doesn’t point out that her bossiness won’t stop Dean being any less dead in a few weeks.

He’s not sure whether he feels vindicated or annoyed that she’s not as effective as she thinks when her patient knocks at his motel room door several hours later. He thought Dean looked bad in the hospital, but a bus ride and the shitty motel lighting has added several layers of exhaustion to his brother’s wearied features.

“Dean? What the fuck are you doing here?” He watches as Dean eases himself into a chair, the oversized hoodie swamping his brother’s shrinking frame. He tries to tell himself that it’s a trick of the light because the truth is too terrifying. 

“Well, I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot,” Dean replies, his expression indicating that Sam is ridiculous for not realising that. 

Sam’s overriding instinct is to yell, _get the fuck back there, quick!_ but there’s no point because all the doctors and nurses there can’t put Humpty back together again, not this time. This time, it’s down to him to find something from the world they’ve inhabited since the day their mother was violently taken from them. He figures ‘The Life’ has taken enough from them – now it’s time for it to give something back.

He tells Dean about his lead now he’s spoken to the source and despite their years of separation, he knows his brother well enough to steer clear of the term ‘faith healer’. Instead, he talks about a ‘specialist’ in Nebraska and feels both guilty and relieved that Dean’s apparently too pre-occupied with not dying right there on the motel room floor to question him or ask for more details. 

~~~~~~

As he predicted, Dean is _not_ impressed.

For some reason, his brother’s under the impression that they’re here to see a doctor, which Sam argues that he categorically _never_ said. He admits to lying by omission, but figures Dean will forgive him when he’s magically healed, since this Roy LeGrange character seems to be the real deal. 

He forgets, however that his brother is as stubborn as their dad is obsessive and when Dean’s chosen by LeGrange, he steadfastly refuses to go up there, much to Sam’s outrage. Instead, the faith healer selects Layla - a woman they conversed with briefly outside. As he follows Dean outside, he hears the whoops and cheers of the congregation, his brother’s future now as obliterated as – presumably - the young woman’s brain tumour.

“It was _her_ turn, Sam,” Dean growls for the millionth time when the silence in the car becomes so loaded there’s a chance of it going off accidentally and injuring them both. Dean’s slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window. He’s currently fixing Sam with a look that says he’d punch this conversation to its conclusion, if only he had the energy.

“He chose _you_ , Dean.” Sam grips the steering wheel with an intensity that threatens to break something. At least it’s keeping his hands busy since he’s feeling pretty punchy himself. Dean blew his one big chance to save himself, maybe because he thought there’d be another chance, but that’s not going to happen now. Not now LeGrange’s wife is dead and the reaper she was using to trade lives is gone. 

“Someone else _died_ so those people could be healed, Sammy. You think I wanted that on my conscience?”

The response dies in Sam’s throat because Dean’s right. Yet there’s still the petulant part of him that says they only discovered this unfortunate trade off _after_ Layla was healed, so if Dean hadn’t been such a stubborn asshole then he would have been the one who was saved.

“Where are we even going?” Dean grumbles as the scenery races by. He folds his arms sulkily as he hunches over, like an eight year old version of himself.

“Bobby Singer’s.” Sam glances across to observe his brother’s reaction to this news, which turns out to be an underwhelming nod. “I called him when I was looking for a way to help you. He called back earlier to see how we were getting on. I told him it hadn’t panned out like we’d hoped.”

He pauses to prevent the bitter tone from creeping back into his voice. “He said we could come stay for a while, see if we could come up with anything else while you take it easy. Seems as good a place as any; better than a grubby motel room any rate.”

Finally Dean’s expression changes, but it’s a raised eyebrow. “You have _been_ to Bobby’s place, Sam. The whole place is one big goddamned health hazard.”

“Not since we were kids. Maybe he’s cleaned up since then.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me, Sam, he ain’t. The last time I was there, even the rats were packing up their shit and leaving because it was too messy.”

It all makes sense now. Although it had been Joshua who had pointed him in the direction of Roy LeGrange when Sam had called their dad’s contacts, it was Bobby Singer who had sounded the most upset about Dean. His brother’s obviously been a visitor to Bobby’s scrap yard home while he was away at school.

Silence pervades for a moment, until Dean’s voice cuts through the heavy stillness, the words without the heat of his earlier bad mood. 

“Why can’t you just accept that I’m going to die, Sammy?”

Sam tightens his grip on the steering wheel because everything he wants to say sounds childish and selfish. 

“I mean, you were at Stanford for _two years_ ; you knew I was still hunting. What if I’d died then-”

“But you didn’t-”

“But I _could have_ \- hundreds of times over - and if I had, you’d have mourned me, and raged at Dad because you’d almost certainly have blamed him, but then you’d have gone back to your studies and got on with your life.”

“Way to make me sound like a callous dick, Dean.”

Although he doesn’t see it, he can tell that Dean is rolling his eyes. “Quit making it about you, Sammy. I’m just stating fact, and for the record, I don’t think it _would_ make you a callous dick. You’d be moving on and making something of yourself, which is exactly what I’d expect you to do.”

Sam softens at the obvious fondness in his brother’s voice, and although he doesn’t want to think about it, he knows that Dean is right. He _would_ have been furious with his dad, but he would have been equally furious with Dean too, for embracing hunting and not wanting more for himself and getting himself killed, but the distance – both physical and emotional – would have undoubtedly lessened the impact.

“I was so proud of you getting out,” Dean continues, a smile evident in his voice although his eyes remain fixed on the passing scenery. “I just wish you could have done it with Dad’s blessing.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam agrees. “He was seriously pissed... but then I figured you were too.”

“I wasn’t. What made you think that?”

“What made me think _that?_ Dean, you didn’t speak to me for two years!”

When Dean doesn’t immediately respond, he risks a glance over at him. He’s surprised to see that Dean looks hurt.

“Just because I didn’t call, doesn’t mean that I didn’t look out for you, Sammy.” 

Sam frowns. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, I came by – between hunts, hell, as often as I could make it. I saw you at classes, your part-time job. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Sam’s reeling. Throughout their two year separation he became convinced that he’d seen their unmistakable car around where he lived. Eventually he’d persuaded himself that it was just wishful thinking on his part.

“Why... why didn’t you come and see me if you were around so much? I missed you badly, Dean! You don’t know how many times I wanted just to _talk_ to you, how many times I nearly gave it all up because I couldn’t stand not having you in my life.” He realises that his tone has grown angry.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly. “I thought cutting ties would help you not to look back. I _know_ you, Sammy; you needed that anger at me and Dad to push you on, in the direction you were supposed to go. You don’t think I actually _wanted_ to be out of your life, do you?”

Now that they’ve reconnected, the thought of Dean not being around is unbearable and despite his brother’s gruff exterior and stupid insistence on ‘no chick flick moments’, he can finally see the true extent of Dean’s love and devotion towards him. Dean who loved him enough to let him go even when it wasn’t what he wanted. The same Dean who left him to fully embrace that life for two years even though, he now sees, that he mistook his brother’s silence for anger.

And he loves Dean with that same intensity.

“I’m sorry, man,” Sam says. He catches Dean’s nod of acceptance out of his peripheral vision, an action that officially brings this much-needed conversation to a close.

~~~~~~

They arrive at Bobby Singer’s as the sun is starting to set. The light reflects off the skeletons of vehicles past that have all found their final resting place at Bobby’s scrap yard home. The house stands sentry amongst the piles of twisted metal, similarly in need of some attention. Sam kills the engine and they both climb out of the car.

The stillness is broken by a guttural growl before a large Rottweiler rounds a corner and begins to head towards the car, quickly picking up speed at the sight of the new arrivals. The growl becomes a series of furious-sounding barks.

“Dean,” Sam says, his tone carrying a combination of warning and anxiety because it’s a fucking _big_ dog that’s now barrelling towards them. He’s about to yell at Dean to get back in the car, but when he glances over, his brother is grinning. He can only watch as the dog reaches Dean and dives into the dirt in front of him, his legs kicking furiously as Dean bends down to scratch his belly.

“Hey, Rumsfeld,” Dean coos as he fusses with the animal. He doesn’t notice that Bobby has now come out of the house and is watching them from the front porch, arms folded across his chest.

“You make him soft, you’re buying me another dog, boy.”

Despite the hunter’s gruff manner, there’s a smile playing at his lips and his eyes twinkle fondly beneath the peak of his cap. Dean looks up and grins, but goes right back to lavishing attention on Bobby’s supposed guard dog.

Leaving Dean and Rumsfeld to get reacquainted, Sam goes over to the older man. They shake hands, while Bobby gives him the once-over.

“S’good to see you, Sam. I was sorry to hear about your girlfriend.”

“Thanks. And thanks for having us.”

They both glance over at Dean, who’s still patting the dog. Every time he goes to stand, Rumsfeld barks and kicks his legs some more, ensuring that Dean carries on petting him.

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asks quietly.

Sam watches his brother for a moment longer before he turns back to look at Bobby. There’s no point hiding the truth from Bobby, even though Dean would undoubtedly bitch at the thought of anymore people treating him like he’s made of glass.

“I need to find something quick, Bobby. The doctors said he might only have a matter of weeks and dealing with the reaper-thing in Nebraska really took it out of him.”

“Have you spoken to your dad?”

Sam snorts. “I left him a message when it first happened. For all he knows Dean could be dead by now.”

He bites down on his fury when he realises that Dean is approaching. His older brother is smiling, but Bobby would have to be blind not to notice how terrible Dean looks.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“It’s good to see you, boy,” Bobby replies. The handshake becomes an embrace. Once again Sam notices how Bobby looks at his brother. There’s a definite fondness there and he makes a note to ask Dean about it when they’re alone. “I’d say you’re looking well, but no one likes the smell of bullshit, right?”

Dean laughs. “It’s good to see you too, you crotchety old coot.”

Bobby straightens his cap as he looks at them both. “Have you boys had dinner?”

They haven’t. Bobby steps back and gestures for them to go inside. They head for the living room and instantly Sam is hit by two things: the first is an overwhelming sense of nostalgia for the summer they spent here as kids and the second is that Dean was right – Bobby’s house is _seriously_ untidy.

They both take seats amongst the piles of books, after they’ve shifted a few of them first. Bobby wanders through a few minutes later, clutching two bottles of beers.

“You boys good with an omelette?” Bobby asks.

Truth is they’re good with _anything_ home-cooked since they get it so rarely. Bobby leaves them alone again. Sam opens the book on top of the pile to his left, but it’s all in Japanese so he closes it again and turns his attention to his brother.

“Seems like you’ve been here a few times,” Sam says, eyes narrowed so he won’t miss any of his brother’s tells that say he’s lying. Dean sighs.

“I was injured on a hunt about six months after you left for school. I came to Bobby’s to recuperate.”

“Injured? How badly?”

Dean hesitates, then rolls his eyes.

“I broke my neck.”

Sam can’t speak for a moment. He’s pretty sure he can’t breathe either. 

“You broke your... _Jesus_ , Dean. Why didn’t you call me?”

Dean shrugs. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t such a big deal, just a couple of fractured vertebrae. It’s not like I was in a wheelchair or anything. I just needed to rest up once I was out of traction.”

“ _Traction?_ Shit, Dean... Where was Dad?” Sam asks, still unable to take in what his brother’s saying. There’s a clatter of pans from the kitchen, followed by Bobby’s muffled curse.

“Hunting, I dunno.” When he sees that Sam is about to lose his shit, he makes a face. “Look, Sam; Dad had a lead on the demon and he-”

“Didn’t want you in the way?”

“Didn’t want me to risk getting _injured_ ,” Dean counters angrily.

Sam takes a breath, the doctor’s words about not getting Dean worked up ringing in his ears. This news is compounding his anger at their father for abandoning them when they need him. He decides to change the subject.

“Listen. I’m gonna go get our stuff in from the car and do some reading. I got hold of some books, but I never looked them over because I thought Nebraska was gonna be the answer.”

He’s almost out the door when Dean’s voice stops him.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean says, studying the bottle of beer in his hand before he glances up to meet Sam’s questioning gaze. “I know how hard you’ve researched a way to help me and that I blew my best chance, but I’m also not sorry, because I couldn’t live with myself knowing someone died because of me. So keep looking if you want, but listen to me, Sam – I won’t go along with anything that sacrifices someone else, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees.

“Promise me.”

He rolls his eyes, hating how Dean will always put himself last. He doesn’t want them to get into a fight about it though, so he simply nods, allowing Dean to claim this victory for now. 

“I promise, okay?”

Any lies he has to tell will be for the greater good. If he can find a way to save his brother, Dean’s anger at the method is a price he’s more than prepared to pay.

~~~~~~

As they settle into life at Bobby’s, Sam tries to persuade Dean to stay in bed, but short of tying him to the frame, there’s nothing they can do to convince him to rest up. While Sam researches, Bobby gives Dean jobs to do on some of the cars he’s working on in his auto shop – nothing taxing, but Dean doesn’t bitch either, as if he’s aware of his limitations and doesn’t want to risk pushing it.

At times, when the midday sun bleaches out most of the details, it’s possible to look at Dean and think he’s okay. The reality however, is that Dean is fading with each passing day. He dutifully takes the array of medications that he was prescribed after Sam insisted he return to the hospital to be discharged properly. The vials are lined up on Bobby’s countertop – a constant reminder that everything is _far_ from okay.

They’ve been here for three days and Sam’s truly glad that he accepted Bobby’s invitation when the hunter called him back to check on them both. Although he hasn’t found anything to help Dean yet, the sheer wealth of research available here is reassuring. This morning, unable to sleep, he got up and made a start before the sun had even appeared on the horizon.

He’s been at it for four hours already when Bobby shouts through from the kitchen, offering him a drink. His determination hasn’t waned, but he knows he’d be lying if he said that his positivity remained undamaged when each potential avenue reveals itself to be another dead end.

Sam looks up from the latest dusty tome he’s reading as Bobby steps into his study. Bobby hands him a mug of coffee, which he accepts gratefully.

“Any progress?” the other man asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

The coffee scalds his tongue, but it’s _good_. He shakes his head.

“Nothing.” He gestures to the pile of books in front of him. “Seriously, Bobby. How can there be nothing?”

He’s about to query the strange look Bobby is giving him when something occurs to him. 

“Hey, have you seen Dean?” he says suddenly. His brother walked past him a short while ago saying he was going to throw a ball for Rumsfeld for a few minutes, and then he’d come back and help, but hasn’t returned. He realises Bobby now looks similarly concerned.

“The dog’s been sittin’ in the kitchen for the last ten minutes...”

Sam’s on his feet in an instant. “You check the house, I’ll go outside.”

Anxiety escalating, he runs outside, almost sprawling in the dirt as he misjudges the porch step. He glances around, cursing the size of Bobby’s yard.

“Dean!”

He sets off down one of the avenues, rusting columns jutting into the sky on either side. He’s about to turn tail and head back the other way when, at the last second, he spots something on the ground. 

It’s Rumsfeld’s ball. 

He’s running and yelling, his heart pounding in his chest. He passes the ball and rounds the corner.

“Dean!”

Sitting on the ground with his back pressed up against one of the junkers, Dean is gasping for breath. It takes him a moment to even register that Sam’s here. Dean’s eyes are wide and slightly panicked as they rise to meet Sam’s and he’s clutching his chest. It’s clear that he’s in pain. 

“Hold on!” Sam turns and runs for the house, knowing every second counts. He stumbles through into the kitchen and searches for the vial of meds prescribed for just such an emergency. Bobby is upstairs, but he hasn’t got a second to shout to the other man. Fingers fumbling, he forces the cap off as he sprints back to where he left Dean fighting for breath. 

There’s been no miraculous improvement in the thirty seconds or so that he’s been gone. Crashing to the dirt in front of Dean, he grips his brother’s face and pushes the tablet into his mouth so that it rests between his gums and cheek.

“Let it dissolve; don’t chew it,” he instructs. He fights his rising panic, knowing that if this doesn’t work, he needs to call 911. Behind them, he hears the sound of Bobby approaching.

“Sam?”

He hears the older man, but he can’t take his eyes off Dean. Time passes with agonising slowness, but eventually Dean starts to get his breathing under control. His features relax with relief and the hand that was clutching his chest drops. When he’s sure that the crisis has passed, Sam reaches out and offers Dean his hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Dean looks like he won’t be able to stand, but he gives Sam a pointed look that warns against any attempt to carry him into the house. He does however settle for Sam’s arm around his shoulder. Bobby brings up the rear, silently following them in case his assistance is needed.

It’s either a measure of Dean’s poor health, or how shaken up his brother is by what just happened, but Dean doesn’t object when Sam guides him into the bedroom and insists that he lie down. Sam sits with him for a moment, but neither of them feels like talking since the most obvious topic of conversation is Dean’s impending demise, thrown starkly into focus by these events. 

Eventually Dean drifts off to sleep. Sam stays for a few more minutes before the need to continue his research wins out. He leaves the room quietly and heads downstairs, but is surprised to see Bobby sitting in his chair in his study, his head in his hands. There’s a tumbler of whiskey in front of him that’s almost completely drained.

“Bobby?”

Bobby looks up and drags a hand across his beard. He sighs heavily, resignation trampling across his features. He doesn’t say anything, but after a moment has passed, he hands Sam a piece of paper. Sam glances at it – there’s a phone number, but no name.

“What is this?”

“It’s a number for a guy. He might be able to help.”

Sam frowns deeply because _what the fuck?_ If Bobby had a contact all along then why the hell didn’t he say so? He opens his mouth to say something, but Bobby beats him to it, as if he knows Sam will want to know why this is only just coming to light.

“Don’t you think I looked into it first? I haven’t got any specific information, but I’m sensing that it isn’t a good solution, Sam. I still think you should keep looking for something else.”

Sam nods absently as he pats his pockets, trying to find his phone. Bobby rolls his eyes, knowing his last resort has instantly jumped to the front of the queue.

“ _Sam_.” He says it sharply enough to finally get Sam’s attention. “When you call, don’t tell him what it is you’re trying to fix. That much I _do_ know.”

Understandably Sam gives him a questioning look so he continues. “Look, just trust me, okay? From what I’ve heard, this guy rarely offers his services to anyone, so your best hope is to actually get in front of him and plead your case.”

The curiosity hasn’t completely gone away, but Sam nods. “You got it, Bobby.”

Then he’s gone, putting his faith in a phone number he just got for a guy he’s never met. 

~~~~~~

The following morning Bobby is working under a car when an approaching shadow says that he’s got company. He rolls out from beneath the vehicle to see Sam looking down at him, his expression unreadable. Despite that, he instantly knows what this is about.

“The guy’s agreed to see me. My flight leaves this evening.”

Standing up, Bobby attempts to keep his own expression neutral. “Flight to where?”

“Germany. I transfer at Chicago, then it’s a direct flight to Munich.”

“Have you told your brother?”

Finally there’s a crack in Sam’s armour at the mention of Dean. It’s clear that the thought of leaving him when he’s so sick is the most troubling aspect for him.

“Not yet. He’s still sleeping.” Sam looks straight at him, appealing for understanding. Bobby thinks he’s finally seen what Dean’s always called Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’. “I know he won’t be happy about it, but I’ve _got_ to go. It might be his only chance.”

Bobby sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. “Don’t worry about your brother while you’re gone. I’ll take care of him.”

Relief floods Sam’s features.

“Thank you, Bobby. You’ve already done more than enough for us. I’m gonna grab my things and speak to Dean before I leave.”

He turns to go and for a split second Bobby almost tells him to stop. This solution... it’s far from perfect, but as far as Bobby can see, all the other hands have been played.

He lets Sam go.

~~~~~~

Sam tries to sleep on the flight, but it’s impossible. The guy he’s going to see – a specialist of an entirely different persuasion to the Reverend Roy LeGrange – lives an isolated life in the foothills of the Alps. He’s already stressing about finding him before he even gets to the issue of whether the guy is prepared to help him. 

Turns out, he needn’t have worried, although his passage through the foothills in the driving rain is exhausting. He finds the cabin and is welcomed in by a young woman, who identifies herself as the guy’s wife. Her husband is out, she informs him, but she gives him towels and takes him to a small bedroom to allow him to change out of his wet clothes, while she makes him something to drink. Once he’s done, she shows him into a sitting room and invites him to wait. 

The room is dimly lit by a fire that roars in the hearth. Bookshelves blend into the shadows and on some of the surfaces there are jars, the contents of which Sam figures he doesn’t want to examine too closely. Another ten minutes pass. He’s starting to think he’s flown all this way to be jerked around and the thought that he’s wasted some of Dean’s final days looking for someone who’s going to be an asshole doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s probably a good job that he wasn’t able to bring a gun.

A door behind him opens suddenly and a man enters, his expression as dark as the room. He spots Sam and rolls his eyes.

“You came then.”

The man doesn’t wait for an answer, not that Sam really has one other than ‘yes’, which seems a little redundant. He’s wearing a hooded cloak, which he pulls off in one swift movement, throwing the garment over a chair where it proceeds to drip rainwater into a rapidly spreading puddle. Sam’s startled to discover that the man is probably younger than himself and, without having to stand up, he can tell that the guy is a good foot shorter than him too.

He keeps Sam waiting a little longer as he goes to write something in a large heavy-looking ledger, then finally he sits down. His expression is unfriendly, bordering on hostile. It’s clear that he doesn’t entertain many visitors.

“So you need a spell.” The man smiles, but the expression is scathing as he rests his head on one hand. “You obviously know enough to have found me, but do you _really_ know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Sam ignores the mocking tone because making an enemy of this abrasive character is not going to help Dean. 

“I know you’re the best at what you do, which is why I’m here.” 

The man’s eyebrows twitch upwards in an unspoken, ‘ _huh_ ’. He appears to decide against any further scorn, like whatever he’s seen in Sam’s face confirms that he’s not here on a whim and he’s at least prepared to hear him out.

“What is it you’re looking to fix?” he asks as he reaches forward to grab a log, which he promptly throws on the fire. The burst of flames pick out the golden tones in his hair and – Sam notices suddenly – his eyes too. He’s certainly a curious individual. 

“My brother had an accident and damaged his heart. It’s failing; I don’t know how long he’s got left-”

“Out of the question,” the man snaps before Sam can finish. Presumably in response to Sam’s startled expression he then seems to relent a little – like he feels that he owes this weary traveller some kind of explanation as to why he’s suddenly refusing to help.

“Have you ever heard of the principal of equivalent exchange?”

Sam shakes his head. The man nods, like he’s used to this reaction.

“Let’s back up a little then. What’s your understanding of alchemy?”

“Alchemy?” Sam wracks his brains, hoping the guy might change his mind if he hears what he wants to. “Uh... it was the precursor to modern science, but involves magic and spirituality. Most people think it’s solely about transmuting metal into gold, but it goes way beyond that.”

Seeing that Sam’s finished, the man nods. It might be a trick of the light, but his expression seems less hostile.

“The principal of equivalent exchange relates to alchemy because alchemy, like all sciences, follows the laws of nature. Put simply, for anything gained, something of equivalent value must be lost. Alchemy is about sacrifice – and the greater the gain, the greater the sacrifice must be.

“When I was younger and experimenting with alchemy, I foolishly disregarded this fundamental principal. I escaped with my life, but there was still a price.”

Sam can only watch as the man sits forward and slowly peels off one of his gloves. His silence is complete as a fully metal limb is revealed. The guy flexes his mechanical hand before reaching up to his collar and pulling his shirt low to expose where the prosthetic is joined to his skin in a chaos of scar tissue. It’s a fascinating combination of machinery and artistry and Sam doesn’t know what to say – doesn’t know if he’s supposed to _say_ anything.

“I lost my leg too,” the man continues, rapping his knuckles on his opposite knee to allow the resulting sound to prove his claim. “Like I said, it’s not to be taken lightly.”

Sam takes a breath. He senses that he’s teetering on the precipice here – that even though the guy said he wouldn’t help, his mind’s not completely made up.

“Look... Dean is my brother. If you knew what he means to me, you’d help because I will do _anything_ it takes.”

His companion sighs. “I’m not questioning your dedication to your brother; the problem is _what_ you’re trying to fix. The heart is complex – the mechanics are easy; it’s the sacrifice that makes it virtually impossible.”

“But it’s _not_ impossible?”

A bigger sigh. “In most cases equivalent exchange is loosely like for like, but the heart is different. The risk is usually too great for most who are contemplating it.”

“With all due respect, Dean is going to die within days or weeks. The risk-”

“Equivalent exchange,” the man repeats firmly. “The risk will be _yours_.”

This is news to him, but he still doesn’t hesitate. He knows he promised Dean he wouldn’t do anything stupid, but saving his brother’s life could never fall into this category as far as he’s concerned.

“Please,” he says, meeting the man’s gaze with a steely one of his own. “Help me save my brother.”

~~~~~~

The guy, who finally introduces himself as Edward Elric is the alchemist, but it’s actually his wife, Winry who is the mechanic. It turns out that she’s the one who built the prosthetics for her husband, when they were teenagers and it’s clear that she’s extremely gifted at what she does. Sam feels his first stab of hope, until Ed delivers the next piece of news – Winry can guide him, but ultimately it will be Sam who needs to construct the mechanical heart for the spell to be successful.

Winry takes him to her workshop and they get started straight away. He sends Bobby a quick text to say he’s okay and to only ring in case of emergency because this project needs his undivided attention.

~~~~~~

They’ve been working now for eighteen hours straight. Sam’s got a blinding headache and his hands are aching from manipulating the miniature parts, but the mechanical heart is finally starting to take shape. 

“You need a break.”

He looks up to see Winry smiling down at him. Her expression is sympathetic as she reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. Exhausted, he rubs his eyes.

“Yeah... you’re probably right.”

She holds her hand out for the tiny screwdriver he’s holding.

“Go have a rest, I’ll carry on here.” When he looks about to protest she adds, “You need to do the lion’s share of the work – the spell will still work if I just check over what you’ve done so far.”

Leaving the workshop he’s surprised to see that darkness has fallen without him even noticing. He realises that he doesn’t immediately know what day it is either. The rain has finally stopped and the evening sky is littered with stars. He decides to stay out here in the hope that the fresh air and silence will clear his aching head, but his solitude is brief as his cell phone starts to ring. 

When Bobby’s name flashes up on his caller ID, his heart strikes up a sharp staccato. He answers it before it can ring again, almost dropping the handset in his haste.

“Bobby? Is Dean okay?”

The fear that drenches him is ice cold when he hears Bobby sigh. “I know you’ll be working your ass off, Sam, but I don’t know how much longer he’s got left.”

“Has something happened?”

“No, nothing specific. He’s just... fading. He’s sleeping a lot and his breathing’s gotten worse. I’ve got a contact over at Sioux Falls General who’s managed to get me an oxygen cylinder, which has helped, but... but he’s going downhill fast, Sam.”

He knew Dean was on borrowed time, but it’s easy to pretend that it’s not real when he’s not there to actually witness his brother’s decline. He swallows down his grief, hoping his voice sounds even.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Bobby. Tell him I’m fixing it. Everything’ll be okay, I swear.”

Pocketing his phone, he hurries back to the workshop. Winry looks up in surprise when he enters. 

“I thought you were taking a break?”

Sam shakes his head. “There’s no time. Dean needs this now.”

He massages his eyes for a moment as he sits back down. When he looks at Winry she nods, her own expression similarly grave. “Let’s get back to work then.”

~~~~~~

Bobby ends the call and heads back upstairs. He doesn’t bother to avoid the creaking floorboards – Dean won’t wake no matter how much noise he makes. He studies the sleeping figure, face covered by the oxygen mask, which mists with every laboured breath. 

“Hang in there, son,” he mutters. “Your brother’s doing his best.”

He can only hope that Sam’s best will be good – and fast – enough.

~~~~~~

The heart’s finished. 

Although his eyes ache with the strain of the work, Sam’s transfixed by what they’ve built. It’s the size and shape of a human heart, but the rivets and gleaming gold screws and cogs make it look more like a work of art or a rare collectible than an item that will serve the most important of functions. Winry touches his arm gently.

“You’re sure about this?” she asks.

He nods without hesitation. 

“I’ll go and get Ed, then,” she replies, giving his arm a quick pat before she leaves the room to find her husband.

~~~~~~

Fortunately Ed is home. He’s already got everything he needs to perform the transmutation so there’s no reason to postpone the procedure. He fixes Sam with a look, but doesn’t repeat his reservations as if he can tell that Sam won’t want to hear them. He states that he’ll make the preparations while Sam makes a call to Bobby’s. 

Alone, Sam dials Bobby’s number. He can only pray that Dean isn’t sleeping because if this doesn’t work, then this could be the last time he gets to speak to his brother. His throat feels thick and when Bobby answers he has to cough first to loosen the words. 

“Hey, Bobby. We’re all ready. Is Dean awake? I need to speak to him.”

“He _was_ about ten minutes ago. Before I get him, is there anything I need to do at this end when... you know, you actually perform the spell?”

Sam had queried this himself, still unable to believe that Ed would be able to do everything with Dean in an entirely different country. 

“Nope. So long as he’s quiet. Just... just make sure you stay with him, Bobby. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“You bet,” Bobby replies gently. “Lemme go see if he’s awake.”

Sam hears the sound of footsteps followed by muffled conversation which includes his name.

“Sorry,” Bobby says when he comes back on the line. “I was just helping him to sit up better. He’s here now.”

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean sounds utterly exhausted. “Where are you?”

“Germany.”

“Finally took my hint about checking out _Oktoberfest_ , huh?”

Sam smiles, despite himself. “I wouldn’t entertain the idea without you, big brother.”

“Well, at least find out if European chicks are hot... You hear me, Sammy?”

Before he can respond, there’s more muffled conversation and then Bobby’s speaking to him directly.

“Sorry, Sam, but he needs to get back on the oxygen.”

“Okay,” he says, just as Winry emerges and gestures that they’re ready for him. He gives her a quick wave. “Well, I’d better get back inside.”

“I’ll be rootin’ for you, boy,” Bobby says. “Take care of yourself, Sam.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” He hesitates for a moment. “If anything goes wrong, tell Dean I’m sorry and that I tried.”

“It’s not going to _go_ wrong, but sure... you have my word, Sam.”

He ends the call and heads back into the house. While he was phoning home, the couple set up a bed in the middle of the transmutation circle carved into the floor of main room. Ed is behind the table working with the ingredients needed for the spell, his face lined with concentration. Winry flashes Sam a quick smile, her hands cradling the mechanical heart.

“Are you ready?” she asks. He realises Ed is watching him now, waiting for his answer.

Despite his nerves, his voice is strong and true as he replies. 

“I’m ready.” He thinks of Dean and prays that this will work. “Let’s do it.”

~~~~~~

In Sioux Falls, Bobby sits at Dean’s bedside. He’s trying to read to keep himself busy, but his attention keeps returning to the boy sleeping beside him so the words aren’t making any sense. Dean’s face is mostly hidden beneath the oxygen mask and his chest rises and falls in shallow, and therefore wholly inadequate, motions. The room is silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the gentle hiss of the oxygen cylinder dispensing its contents.

He’s watching again when Dean suddenly starts to twitch – just fingers at first, but then his features begin to contort like he’s having a bad dream. 

“Dean?” Bobby says quietly as the movements grow more pronounced. He puts his book on the floor and stands up. Eyes still closed, Dean gasps as his body jerks once, twice and then stills completely.

“ _Dean?_ ” he repeats, more urgently this time. He reaches out to touch the boy’s shoulder, even though his eyes are already registering the fact that Dean’s no longer breathing. With shaking hands, his fingers feel for a pulse.

He’s gone.

“Goddamnit, son.” His words are muffled by his hand as he covers the lower half of his face. Grief rushes up to him, a tide that will mark him indelibly and surely never recede. As he removes the now useless oxygen mask, he studies the boy’s pallid features and the dark shadows under the closed eyes. He wants to be comforted by the belief that Dean’s at peace now, but all he feels is the burn of anger that this boy’s life has been all too short.

He’s contemplating whether he should get the worst over with and call Sam – if there’s even still a Sam to call – when Dean’s eyes fly open and he inhales a deep, lifesaving breath, like a drowning man finally reaching the water’s surface. 

Bobby watches in amazement as the colour rushes back into his skin, like his blood is finally allowed to flow once more. Dean then sits up without assistance and looks at him like he’s just woken up from the most insane dream.

“Welcome back, son,” Bobby says, unable to prevent the smile that spreads across his face. “It’s _really_ good to see you.”

~~~~~~

Ed reassures him that it must have worked, but Sam knows that until he’s seen Dean with his own eyes, he can’t be satisfied. Even a phone call, where Dean assures him that he feels a million times better isn’t enough to soothe his frayed nerves. He thanks the couple, who refuse all his attempts to pay them, and heads straight back to the airport. During the flight, he keeps picturing the expression on Ed’s face when he woke following the procedure, like the guy had never really expected it to be a success. 

Eventually his curiosity had eventually gotten the better of him and he’d asked the alchemist why he’d agreed to help, since he was clearly so surprised that it had worked. For the first time since they’d met Ed had smiled. 

_I told you there were risks to you and you never_ once _asked what they were._

Ed had then given him his rationale for originally refusing. To be fair, Sam totally gets why he said no, even though he’s glad that he didn’t.

Anticipation fuels him through the exhaustion of the last week. He knows Bobby or Dean would have come to collect him from the airport, but he wants to be able to surprise them. If his arrival is unexpected, then Dean won’t be able to conceal any frailties as easily. He wills the cab to drive faster, and is both excited and relieved to finally see the sign for Bobby’s Auto Salvage. 

Wallet out before the car’s even come completely to a halt, he pays the cabbie and hefts his rucksack onto his back. Rumsfeld is nowhere to be seen as he climbs the steps up to Bobby’s front door. Before he tries the door he glances out into the yard in case they’re out there, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

Suddenly he hears Bobby’s voice, followed by – and it’s possibly the best sound he’s heard in a _long_ time – his brother’s bark of laughter at something the other man’s just said. He’s smiling as he pushes on the door and lets himself into the house.

Once inside, he drops his rucksack by the door and follows the voices through into the kitchen. Dean’s busy regaling Bobby with – presumably – a hunting story, so he doesn’t hear Sam enter. Bobby, who’s facing the door, spots him, his expression warming instantly.

“The wanderer’s returned,” Bobby announces when Dean pauses for breath.

His brother spins and suddenly they’re staring at each other across the kitchen. He’s hit by how _healthy_ Dean looks, and the relief he feels instantly shoves aside his tiredness. For a moment time seems to stand still before suddenly lurching forward again, and he’s striding towards Dean and embracing him soundly. His brother brings his arms up and returns the gesture. They stay that way even though Bobby’s standing in the background, for a long time until Sam is assured that his brother is solid and whole and not the figment of a desperate imagination. 

Eventually he pulls back so that he can study Dean more closely.

“You look good, man,” he states, “How you feeling?”

Dean grins. “You know what? I feel great.” His delight fades suddenly and Sam finds himself fixed with a shrewd gaze, although Dean’s eyes hint that devastation is waiting in the wings. “Tell me you didn’t do something stupid, Sammy. You know as well as I do that everything comes with a price.”

“I didn’t do anything stupid, but if you grab me a beer I’ll tell you all about it.”

~~~~~~

Bobby joins them on the porch to hear Sam’s story. Hours later, Dean’s still grinning, periodically patting his chest and shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I’ve got a fuckin’ mechanical _heart!_ Can you believe it? My brother’s a goddamned _genius_.”

Talk eventually moves onto other topics. Their dad is still AWOL, so they need to pick up the trail again, whilst hunting whatever jobs come their way in the meantime. 

It’s midnight when they decide to call it a night. Dean disappears first, citing the need to ‘hit the head’. When they’re alone, Sam can feel the weight of Bobby’s gaze. There’s a question in it, and suddenly it dawns on him.

“You knew,” Sam says, but it’s not an accusation.

Bobby sighs. “I knew he was an alchemist, and alchemy _never_ comes without sacrifice. When I did more research and found out what it would involve for you... That’s why it was a last resort. I didn’t tell you before you left because I knew you’d promised Dean. I also knew that you’d go anyway and I didn’t want you to part on bad terms.”

There’s a pause. Somewhere in the distance Rumsfeld is scratching at one of the cars, presumably in pursuit of some kind of critter.

“I’m glad you had faith in me,” Sam says quietly. “I’ll tell him, one day, just... not yet.” 

Bobby nods, not wanting these boys to have secrets from each other, but understanding why Sam had left out some of the specific details. Sam turns to go inside.

“I gotta ask; how are _you_ feeling, Sam?”

Unconsciously Sam copies Dean’s earlier chest-patting gesture. He smiles, somewhat self-consciously.

“Honestly? I feel fine.”

Bobby nods again, evidently satisfied. “You did a good thing, Sam. I’m damned proud of you, son.”

Sam smiles, faintly abashed by the praise. “Well g’night Bobby. And thanks for everything, you know? I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

Bobby waves a hand, never one to allow too much sentimentality. 

“Yeah well, how about you show your appreciation by making sure your brother’s not pissing all over my bathroom floor. His aim stinks.”

Sam leaves, and through the open upstairs window Bobby catches the sound of the brothers talking. With no one else around, he allows himself the luxury of a smile when he hears their laughter because he knows without a doubt that he loves these boys as if they were his own and he hopes, now that the dark spectre of death has moved on, that he’ll get to see more of them.

On a whim, he goes into his study. He knows what he’s looking for; he just wants to read it again to feel reassured that setting Sam on this path was the right thing to do. The book is locked away from Winchester eyes - _Dean’s_ \- because Sam’s right – it’s his story to tell when the time comes. Sam’s clearly forgiven him the deception, but he hopes that if Dean ever stumbled across it, he’d understand too. He pours himself some whiskey and settles back into his chair.

The alchemy text is large and unwieldy with no contents page or index, but he finds the appropriate section easily. There’s a pencil illustration of the mechanical heart, identical to the one Sam created. His eyes are drawn to the text beneath it.

_The heart must be constructed out of materials found naturally within the human body: iron, copper, silver and gold. Once constructed, the heart will then be split in two. The transmutation spell can then be performed on the recipient and the donor of the human heart simultaneously. If successful, the two subjects will be left with mirrored organs – half human, half mechanical. There are caveats that should not be treated lightly about this procedure: although the heart is now in two separate people, it will still function as one. If death occurs in one, then death will occur in the other with no exceptions._

_The most prohibitive condition to the success of this spell is almost certainly to be found in the pre-requisite for the_ human _heart involved. The heart of the donor must have a connection to the heart it is replacing in the recipient._

_The main issue is that there is no way of knowing if the donor heart is worthy until the moment of transmutation, at which point it is too late to turn back. It is this that makes it a spell few alchemists are happy to perform. A further condition is that they cannot make the donor aware of this fact, because the heart must not be influenced in any way. All they are able to share is that there are risks, and that the donor must consider carefully if they truly wish to proceed._

_All failures have been studied against the minute number of successes and the evidence is unequivocal. It seems the heart has no interest in power or status, money or even familial ties. It cares not for loyalty, guilt or a sense of duty. The only commonality between those that have achieved this rare success is a strong and unquestioning devotion between recipient and donor that runs deeper than blood. In short, and as unscientific as it may seem, the ingredient essential for success... is love._

He closes the book and locks it back away. When Dean had sought shelter here in the spring after Sam had left for Stanford, he’d seen first-hand the depth of Dean’s love and devotion for his brother. The boy had sustained an injury that had almost paralysed him and yet, without hunting to occupy his days and his thoughts, he was more consumed with grief at being separated from Sam. 

Sam had been the unknown quantity. He’d been a reticent child and absent as an adult due to his unswerving desire to escape the family business. However, it had been clear the moment they’d arrived – hell, even _earlier_ – from the moment Sam had called him, grief-stricken, and begging for a way to save Dean, that Sam’s love equalled that of his brother’s. 

He’d still wanted them to find another way, though. Alchemy... a mechanical heart... a spell that would link their survival for the rest of their lives, _if_ it even worked. He wonders what John would think about what his youngest has done because, admittedly, it’s far from an ideal solution. He wasn’t lying when he told Sam he was proud of him and even though he’s not their father, he hopes his words count for something. His thoughts are interrupted by more laughter from upstairs. He doesn’t know the reason for their mirth, but he smiles all the same. 

No, it’s not an ideal solution, but if anyone can make it work, it’s these boys.

**End**


End file.
